


Once Upon A Time

by geeky__chick



Series: BlackHawk Ficlet Series [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Other, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeky__chick/pseuds/geeky__chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Agent Barton was sent to kill me. He made a different call.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The moment Hawkeye came face to face with the Black Widow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Time

**Author's Note:**

> Just my own little headcannon!

**Once Upon A Time**

 

 

They stood, motionless, in the dimly lit hallway with their weapons poised.

For three weeks, he shadowed her. The assassin he’d been sent to kill was talented, there was no denying it. She managed to lose him twice, without even knowing he was behind her. She blended in to the point of madness. One moment she had a man on the ground, strangling the life from him and the next she was just gone.

Now, after all that time and planning and waiting, Clint Barton had her.

Her latest kill was confirmed, SHIELD allowed him to get the drop on her before she vanished yet again. As he dropped from his concealment above, she pulled up short. Her Glock was up, aimed at his head. Clint had his poised at her chest, where a single round would shred her heart.

Either could pull the trigger. Either could end the other. Most likely, they would both wind up dead.

As Clint stared at her, he did not speak. She said nothing, as he expected from the Black Widow. No one even knew her name. All they had was a description, her call sign, and hope that she could be stopped. Clint had heard her speak seven languages, but the Russian was most fluent, worn and comfortable like a broken in bow. Somehow, he didn’t think that would come as a surprise to SHIELD.

So…why couldn’t he pull the trigger?

There was something in her eyes, Clint thought as he adjusted the grip he had on his Sig Sauer. She knew, in one instant, that she was caught. Had she ever been this close to death in a real way, when there was no way out? Clint didn’t think so, from the widening of her brilliant green eyes. A part of him, the part he thought was beaten out of him as a child, clenched in recognition. He knew that look, that desperation, the desire for death.

“What’s your name?” He asked the question softly.

To his surprise, she responded. “Natasha.”

“I’m Clint. You know why I’m here.” Barton continued.

“Yes.” The girl named Natasha smiled slightly. “And it couldn’t have been an easy mission.”

Barton smirked. “It wasn’t. Well done.”

“So?” Natasha asked. “Pull the trigger.”

His hand adjusted on the grip once more, almost aching to do exactly that. She wasn’t a girl; she was just a mark, just a mission. Clint had taken out girls younger than her, prettier, sweeter without batting an eyelash. As his hand moved, though, he found it was not to pull the trigger after all.

He slowly lowered the weapon.

“Why?” She asked, almost angrily. Her gaze flickered to the lowered weapon before snapping back to meet his “Do it.”

Barton shook his head. “What are you?”

“A spy.” She shot back, still angry. Her clear green eyes snapped with temper, trying to overcome the fear. “An assassin.”

“Same.” Clint responded easily as he holstered his weapon. “But you haven’t shot me yet.”

_Bang_.

The gun fired and Barton was moving before he could stop himself. He dropped to the floor on his injured leg, ignoring the pain. He swept his foot in a low arch, barely catching the girl by the ankle as she leaped over him. She turned the fall into a graceful tumble, but the stutter provided Clint with the momentum he needed.

His gun was in his hand and this time, there was no hesitation. He fired once, catching the spy in the shoulder. She cried out in pain, falling against the corridor wall in shock. She hadn’t expected that. She didn’t think he would fight back while injured.

“Now,” Clint grunted as he stumbled toward her. “We’re both injured and someone was bound to hear those shots. This isn’t Russia, people around here call cops when they hear gunshots.”

As she hissed and panted through pain, Clint kicked her firearm away, leaning to scoop it up into his own hands. Blood trickled down his leg, down her torso. If they didn’t get patched up soon, they were both likely to bleed out. Startled or not, they were both pretty good shots.

He crouched in front of her, not sure why he was giving her this chance. Well, maybe he did know.

“If you want to live, you’ll come with me.”

“I can take care of myself,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

“With a bullet in your shoulder that probably hit something important?” Clint scoffed. “Doubtful. How far will you get without help? I’m offering a hand, here.”

“I don’t need it.” Natasha shot back. “And why would you? You were sent to kill me.”

Clint paused, meeting those deep emerald eyes once more. He shrugged his shoulder, thinking back to the day he had met his handler.

“Because, once upon a time someone was sent to kill me.” Clint offered. “He saw something in me that was worth saving, so he made a different call. I’d do him no justice if I didn’t offer the same.”

She was quiet for a long moment, her free hand pressing into the bullet wound he’d slammed into her shoulder. Natasha kept her eyes on his, so Clint was able to see the glimmer of hope that tried so valiantly to surface behind the pain and fear.

“Was it worth it?”

Clint nodded once. “I wouldn’t go back. I would never go back.”

Sirens could be heard in the distance. Both spies looked up, calculating how long it would take for them to arrive on scene. Natasha had, maybe, a minute flat before they were found. She had thirty seconds before Clint left her. He could see it working in her mind, the pros and cons, the escape strategies.

He also knew the moment she would reach for his hand.

Natasha and Clint limped out of the warehouse and down the abandoned alley. He tucked her into his arm, using his limp to appear drunken. She swiped an empty vodka bottle from a trash can, using it as a prop as they passed the police cars. She was giggling in a convincing way as he mimed whispering in her ear. The police paid them no mind as they eased around the corner.

“Who do you work for?” She asked when they judged the distance to be safe. She was still holding him up, helping him shuffle with one leg wounded.

“SHIELD,” Barton answered. “You’ll like it. Covert missions, lots of room to play, money to spend. It’s fun.”

“What will they think about you bringing your target back?”

At this, Barton laughed. “Like I said, I’m not the first agent to go on a mission only to bring back a stray.”


End file.
